A Few Pegs Shorter
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: Smile because it happened. GSR. Spoilers for 807, Goodbye and Good Luck


Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: I apologize for the brevity of this story, but I'm trying to balance my sadness over the episode with my excitement about going to the picket lines at Universal Studios tomorrow. I hope you enjoy it anyway…as much as any post-ep stories can be enjoyed right now. Take care, my friends.

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A Few Pegs Shorter

By Kristen Elizabeth

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_Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened. -- Dr. Seuss_

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"Sir?"

Conrad Ecklie kept scribbling notes even as he reached for the intercom button on his phone. "Yeah?" he answered shortly.

"Supervisor Grissom wants to see you," his secretary informed him.

Like he had time for the man. If Grissom really needed to talk to him, he would have remembered to show up for the last two staff meetings. "Fine. Send him in."

Feeling painfully magnanimous, Ecklie finished his last sentence and set down his pen as the graveyard supervisor entered his office. "Gil. What can I do for…"

"Sara Sidle resigned tonight." His hands were in his pockets, but his arms were so stiff at his sides that Ecklie could tell they were balled into tight fists. "She left her gun and her phone in her locker. It's open. She had three active cases. If swing shift can't cover them, graveyard will pick up the slack." He paused and to Ecklie's horror, there was moisture in the corners of his eyes. "The DA will need to be notified," he went on a second later. "She had a few court dates coming up." Another pause followed. "I'd appreciate your discretion, Conrad, but I don't expect it. However, whatever information you choose to pass along, make sure you include this: Sara gave this lab so much of her heart and soul that we nearly drained her dry. And she didn't leave because she had a breakdown. She left so she wouldn't."

Ecklie jumped to his feet when Grissom started for the door. "Gil, I…" He stopped, having no idea what to say for perhaps the first time in his life. All he could seem to come up with was, "I'm sorry."

There had been many times over the years they'd worked together that Ecklie wanted to see Gil Grissom taken down a few pegs. But now that it had happened by someone else's hands, and a broken man stood in front of him, it didn't feel good at all. He wondered if it ever would have.

"If…when she comes back someday…" The way Grissom said that spoke volumes--Sara Sidle had left more than just the lab. "…you will have a job open for her."

There were a lot of things that the administrator in him should have said right then about budget constraints and limited field positions and the black mark on her record that would come from quitting without two weeks notice. But Ecklie merely nodded. "Yeah," he heard himself reply. "Just…." He couldn't stop himself. "Any idea when that might happen?"

Grissom's reply wasn't meant for his ears. "She waited seven years for me."

When he was gone, Ecklie flopped back into his chair. After a minute, he reached into his bottom drawer for the bottle of Jack Daniels he kept around for moments like this. Uncorking it, he buzzed his secretary.

"Jen, do me a favor. Call HR and tell them we need to start putting out feelers for a new CSI II or III."

With that being taken care of, Ecklie poured two fingers into his empty coffee mug. Before drinking, he held the glass up for half a second, silently toasting the only person who'd ever had the guts to tell him to his face what he'd always known was being whispered in the hallways.

As the alcohol burned its way down his throat, he walked to the metal cabinet where the personnel files were kept. Sara's was thick, to be sure, but in all fairness, for every complaint on file, there were two accommodations from detectives, ADA's and even a few citizens who'd written in to thank her for solving whatever crime had touched their lives.

Piece by piece, he sorted her file into two stacks. One stayed; the other was shredded. In thick, black marker, he wrote across the front of the manila folder, "ON LEAVE." Whenever she returned, her slate would be clean.

It was the least he could do for a loose cannon without a gun.

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Fin


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